Getting Over It is Not the Point

Jan 28, 2015 by

          Oh, the luxurious life of the unemployed. For you working folk, let me give you a glimpse into its fabulousness: lunch without limits. On Monday, I had the pleasure of sitting down to grilled tilapia and pork carnitas tacos, freshly made by one of my girlfriends. She loves to cook; I love to eat. Our friendship was clearly fated by the stars. I arrived before 2 pm and didn’t leave until 7:45 pm. She had the day off and I have every day off (I love my life!), so afternoon became evening without a care. If I didn’t have a sensual floor class (a.k.a. arm workout) to get to at my pole studio, I would have stayed even later.

          Bragging about my beautifully work-free life aside (which, by the way, I do to motivate you to be unemployed by choice at least once in your life), let’s talk about the conversation that accompanied the tacos. My friend and I were chatting about our dating lives, by which I mean her dating life, because mine is on pause. Hers, on the other hand, is always abuzz. Every time I see her, I feel like a kindergartener excitedly waiting for my teacher to flip to the next page of the latest circle-time story. She’s always juggling multiple boys at once. When I express my admiration, she insists that it hasn’t always been like that. I wave her off in disbelief. I simply can’t imagine it any other way. She joked that she needs a spreadsheet to keep track of them all. Seriously, I need a spreadsheet to keep track of them all.

          When it came my turn to update her, amongst talk of pole dancing and wanting to be unemployed forever, we got on the topic of the guy I cried about at the Eiffel Tower. I’m never really sure what to call him. In addition to “the guy I cried about at the Eiffel Tower,” he’s also been “the guy I wanted,” “the guy I miss,” and “the guy I’m trying to get over.” It’s that last reference that my friend addressed on Monday.

          “You say you need to get over him, but I don’t think you do,” she said.

          “What do you mean?” I asked.

          What she meant was, instead of trying to shake off what happened, I should focus on learning to live with it, which she said I’ve been doing an excellent job of already (love her). She explained that he’s a part of me, reiterating what I already knew: he taught me a lot of lessons – good lessons, lessons I will gratefully carry with me for the rest of my life. Honestly, he has no idea how much he has unconsciously helped me learn about happiness, which is precisely why my friend thinks getting over him is not the goal. I suppose wearing him with my head up is. She compared him to a tattoo – an analogy that I liked until I remembered that annoying Jordin Sparks song, Just Like a Tattoo. The comparison makes my friend’s point nonetheless. Undeniably, he’s helped me become who I am, as have other people that have left impressions on me. In that light, getting over him seems less important than continuing forth with ongoing appreciation for his impact.

          “Do you think I left him with a tattoo?” I asked doubtfully, clearly terribly insecure when it comes to him.

          “Probably a much smaller one,” she answered honestly.

          “Much, much smaller,” I laughed in agreement.

          “But I think so – only because you guys have a story,” she said.

          “It’s a good story,” I smiled.

          “It’s a great story,” she confirmed.

Happiness Tip: Wear the people that mark you. Wear them with gratitude.

 
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